


A Normal Day

by Battlefox



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age - Various Authors, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 01:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7665823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Battlefox/pseuds/Battlefox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dragon Age universe is one of excitement, magic, and adventure. However, for one Ferelden farmer, all of that mystery and excitement is rather irksome. Follow the story of a simple farmer for whom the only hope is that the darkspawn don't trample his cursed tomatoes again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Normal Day

Markson woke as he always did; following his internal clock, rising just an hour or so before the dawn. He got out of bed, pulled on his breeches, his workboots, and his shirt, and shuffled out to the barn to milk his druffalos. He did this for an hour, and emerged from the barn as the sun crested the mountains. He let out a frosted breath, examining the clouds. The cover wasn't terrible, so he shuffled the beaten path back to his small wooden home. Soon the milk was stowed away, breakfast eaten, and he was back out in the fields to get some weeding done. Markson lived alone. His wife had passed away, and his children had left to find a more interesting life in Denerim. They wrote on occasion, but never enough to kindle a desire to follow their path to the large city. Plus, he reasoned with himself, wiping off the sweat that had already began to bead up on his brow, there were too many damn people in Denerim anyways. He'd never last more than a day there.   
"Markson!" Came a call, and he looked up. It was Rook, a hunter who frequented these parts.  
"Rook," Markson straightened, acknowledging the man, "What brings you this way? I thought you typically were up in the foothills by this time."  
"I would, but I saw a couple of odd tracks in the trees," Rook approached, then stopped about a yard distant from the farmer, leaning against a gnarled walking stick, "They look like the track of men, but they drag. So either there's someone injured, dragging a foot about the forest, or there's darkspawn."  
Markson wrinkled his nose like the word was distasteful to him, "Darkspawn. Aren't the wardens supposed to get rid of those cursed corpses?"  
"Andraste hear your words, you'd think they would," Rook leaned forward, "But even I have run into a couple in my hunts as of late... They're getting more and more common, Markson. Some are even speaking that a blight is about to hit..."  
"Blight, shmite," Markson shook his head, and crouched again, returning to tugging weeds from the soil, "Wardens can say what they will to mooch off the rest of us, but we've survived worse . We're Ferelden- not damned Orlesians. We actually know how to survive without luxuries."  
Rook looked only half-amused by the older man's complaints. "Alright, just be on the lookout. If it is someone who's gotten hurt, they'll probably need help."  
"Right, I'll keep an eye out," Markson assured him. Rook, seeming at least moderately satisfied with this response, hefted his walking stick and continued down the way, heading towards the foothills. Markson pushed the conversation out of his head the instant the hunter left his sight. Fereldan was full of so many dangers, if he just sat down and gave proper worry to each one, he'd never rise again, and he had to weed these maker-damned potatoes by evening, or he'd lose them like he had the year prior.

Markson continued his work, pausing only briefly for a hearty lunch, until the sun began to sink beyond the leafy tops of the trees. He straightened, grimacing as his back throbbed in protest. It looked like he'd need some Elfroot tea tonight... The older he got, the harder it was to straighten up again. He sometimes wondered if he'd end up like his father, permanently hunched over from working a lifetime of fields. This was what was going through his mind as he heard the first rustling in the brush. Markson paused, catching the sound with his keen ears. Not sure if it was a wolf, or Rook's injured man, he took a firmer grip on his rake, and turned to look. The spaces between the trees were dark, and difficult to see far in. He managed to catch sight of a shuffling figure, slowly moving just beyond the line of the forest. The gait of the figure gave Markson pause. Suddenly, Rook's warning was much more valid. Carefully, he stepped backwards, hoping to make it into his house before the beast noticed him. Unfortunately, luck was not with him at that moment. The instant he started to move towards the house, the figure raised a head, and the hollows of it's eyes flashed, peering directly at the farmer. Only a moment later, the hurlock charged Markson, screeching a fel battlecry.  
Markson was swift to react. Instead of running to his house, he spread his stands, planting himself firmly on the soil. He held his rake in both hands, and waited for the fiend to draw near. The instant it was within range, he gave a powerful swipe with the tines of his tool, catching the creature firmly in the brow and bringing it to the grow. With a fury that neared panic, Markson struck the creature repeatedly with the farming implement, working feverishly until the beast's skull had been mixed with the loamy earth beneath it.  
Finally, Markson allowed himself to step back from the mutilated corpse of the creature. He felt a touch sick looking at the rotting flesh of the thing, and he decided he'd wait until he'd gathered his wits again to move it off of his property.  
"Markson! Markson!" Rook came stumbling from the trees again, eyes wide, causing Markson to jump. Rook looked at the bloodied farm tool, then down at the unmoving enemy on the ground. "Ah," He panted, doubling over and holding his knees, allowing his walking stick to fall to the grass, "I needn't have run, then.."  
"Coming to gloat that you were correct?" Markson joked dryly, relaxing once he realized he was not in any more danger.  
"Hardly!" Rook snorted, straightening, "I simply caught sight of the tracks again on my way home, and realized they were headed straight towards your farm. Good to know you managed to handle it on your own."  
"Hm, I don't know, I bent my best rake doing it," Markson said, seeming genuinely put-out about that, "But yes.. Any idea what to do with the remains? I don't want it stinking up my... anything."  
"I don't know... throw it on the dungheap?" Rook shrugged, and looked around for his stick before retrieving it, "I doubt it'd be any good for fertilizer."  
"I don't want anything fertilized by the blight anyways," Markson grimaced, "I'll figure something out. You may want to keep a lookout for any more headed this way, though... just in case."  
"Will do," Rook chuckled a bit, and looked at the farmer, "You know, you could probably avoid them if you moved out with your daughter in Denerim.."  
"And leave the farm? Never!" Markson looked appalled that Rook would even suggest that. Rook laughed heartily.  
"Alright, alright, old man... just be careful. I don't want you trying to stick it out here if this DOES turn out to be a blight..."


End file.
